But yet we're pretty quiet,
And folks revile us ne'er.
Don't call us names, then, please!"
At length I meet with ease,
For now they leave my door—
'Tis better than before!
I.
A master of a country school
Jumped up one day from off his stool
Inspired with firm resolve to try
To gain the best society;
So to the nearest baths he walked,
And into the saloon he stalked.
He felt quite startled at the door,
Ne'er having seen the like before.
To the first stranger made he now
A very low and graceful bow,
But quite forgot to bear in mind
That people also stood behind;
His left-hand neighbour's paunch he struck
A grievous blow by great ill luck;
Pardon for this he first entreated,
And then in haste his bow repeated.
His right-hand neighbour next he hit,
And begged him, too, to pardon it;
But on his granting his petition,
Another was in like condition;
These compliments he paid to all,
Behind, before, across the hall;
At length one who could stand no more
Showed him impatiently the door.
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